


Moonflowers

by Kataclysm22



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Prequel, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kataclysm22/pseuds/Kataclysm22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They bloom at night, showing their true selves when the world is shrouded in darkness. The flowers are fragrant and beautiful, with delicate white petals. And they are deathly poisonous. It took him many years, but he finally understood why she loved them. They reminded him so much of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

The still peacefulness of night had settled over the castle many hours ago. Moonlight bathed the garden paths, where a kitchen boy stole kisses from a chambermaid in the privacy of midnight. Inside, the scullery maid was just finished cleaning the dishes from that night's meal, and wearily trudged to the chambers she shared with another young girl. They giggled quietly together about the things young girl's discuss in the privacy of their rooms, and then fell into sleep, ready to wake the next day to take on their chores once more. In the nursery, a small child slept peacefully, being well past the time he was put down for bed. And in the tower, the steward had fallen asleep with his candle still lit, his face pressed up against the book he'd been reading and his glasses pushed askew upon his brow.

But in a small hut hidden deep within the gardens and walking paths, the castle's gardener sat at his small table, writing a letter. The letter would look like nonsense to anyone with an untrained eye, but to its intended recipient, it held great value. The gardener heard a rustling outside the hut, causing his quill to stop scratching and his hand to go still. He waited, listening intently. When the owl hooted, assuring him that all was clear, he returned to his letter.

When it was finished, he folded the parchment meticulously and stashed it in a false-bottom drawer within the desk. He'd send it tomorrow, when he got his hands on a bird from the rookery. The steward was an ally, and for that he was eternally grateful. His mission would not have been possible without the man.

Unfortunately, the wellspring of information within the castle had been dry of late. But he still needed to report to those he worked for. The master was away, as was the Black Hand. Only the Little Lord—as the servants had taken to calling him—was here, and the toddler was not exactly forthcoming with information. Brom thought of the boy, and felt sympathy for the child wash over him. One so young and innocent as he should not be subjected to the horrors he'd already witnessed.

Brom blew out his tallow candle, but sleep would not come. His thoughts kept him awake into the early hours of the morning; until dawn peeked over the horizon. Another day was upon him, and work was to be done.

He'd come to this place three months ago with the intention of infiltrating Morzan's household, and the ruse had worked so far. He was given a position as the castle gardener under the alias of Thane. It didn't take long to discover the steward—a man named Avarin—was an ally to the Varden and all they hoped to accomplish. Brom was just thankful the man had not been a footman or some other position that would not have been any use to him. There was another man that he thought might be an ally to them, in time: the castle healer, Yöthern. But there was still some work to be done on that front; Brom was not completely sure of him yet.

And there was one person in particular he'd yet to encounter. The one who had inspired this revenge mission: Morzan's Black Hand. Brom was unsure of the magician's power or temperament, or even her name. The Hand had been away on a mission since Brom had arrived at the castle. The servants did not speak of her except in hushed tones, so deep was the fear that had been ingrained in them. Whoever this woman was, Brom got the feeling that she was a fearsome thing to behold. He'd just have to wait and see how difficult it was going to be to assassinate her.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait too long. The Hand returned that night.

The castle was as quiet as ever. There was no uproar or fuss given over her return. In fact, it seemed that hardly anyone was even aware that the Hand  _had_  returned. She stole quietly into the castle through the stables, as was her way. And from a shadowy corner, Brom kept a watchful eye on her movements.

She was nothing like he expected. Slim and small of frame, the woman looked like she was barely able to lift the sword that hung at her belt, let alone wield it effectively. On top of being petite, she had a soft face and pleasant features. But then he saw her eyes…

They were hard as stone and full of anger, their dark color almost black in the night. Her dark hair and clothes gave her a severe look, though she was still a handsome woman. Against his better judgment, Brom felt his heart quicken in his chest.

The Hand passed off the reins of her black charger to a stable boy and strode purposefully towards the castle, stripping off her gloves as she walked. Darting in and out of the shadows as he went, Brom followed behind her as far as he dared. It would not do to reveal himself now, not when he'd come so far.

She hurried through a side door into a corridor meant for the servants. Those that were gathered there gave her darting glances, but never went so far as to make eye contact with the Hand. They scuttled out of her way and bowed in deference, backing up against the stone walls. It was clear to Brom that the woman inspired fear wherever she went; she would not be used to people approaching her, unless they'd been ordered to, and that might make his mission that much more difficult. No matter. His heart ached for revenge, and he would have it by whatever means possible.

He did not go so far as to follow her down the hall; that would have aroused too much suspicion. If this plan of his were to work, he would have to be cautious. And sometimes caution demanded patience, neither of which were his forte. The Hand disappeared around the bend of another corridor, and the servants in the hallway snapped back to motion, the spell of her intimidation having been broken. Brom waited only a few moments longer, to make sure nothing of note was going to happen, and then hurried away back to the garden and his hut.

Brom retrieved his encrypted letter from its hiding spot and tucked it away safely in the inside pocket of his tunic. Then he stole out of the hut once more, thankful that night had finally fallen to conceal his movements. He'd learned almost immediately after his arrival that the wards placed around the castle prevented anyone inside from practicing magic without alerting the master of the estate, unless they had the express permission of Morzan or the Hand. It seemed he would have to rely on his natural cunning to reach success.

The rookery was situated at the very top of the highest tower of Morzan's castle. One could hear the squawking and cawing of the birds from the very bottom of the tower, and many chose not to go there unless they had absolute need to do so. It was a dirty place, and Master Avarin was wont to keep his desk in a state of disarray. So it was without incident that Brom made it to the very top to find the steward bent over his desk in deep concentration. So deep, in fact, that he did not notice Brom's arrival until the Rider cleared his throat.

Avarin jumped slightly, startled but the abrupt intrusion upon his studies. But when he noticed Brom standing just inside the doorway, his stern expression softened. "Ah, Brom, do you have need of a bird?" the steward asked, removing his spectacles and placing them atop the book he'd just been poring over.

"Aye, if you can spare one." Brom came further into the room.

"Of course," he replied, vacating his chair and leading the way through a door at the far end of the room. Beyond the door lay another set of stairs which would lead up to the rookery. Brom winced slightly at the grating sound of the birds' cries against his ears. When they reached the top of the tower, the noise was nearly deafening. Master Avarin perused the cages for a few moments, reading off the labels under his breath. "Teirm again?" he asked over his shoulder without tearing his eyes away from the cages.

"Yes," Brom replied in a clipped tone. Although he'd discovered the man to be an ally, he still didn't like to speak too much, lest he give something away he otherwise shouldn't. "If you'll send it to the postmaster in the southern sector of the city, and address it to Jeod, I'd be much obliged." Avarin hummed absently to himself until he located the appropriate bird. The steward hurried to Brom where he stood by the door and retrieved the letter, then returned to the cages and brought out the raven that would make the voyage. He rolled the letter into the canister strapped to the bird's leg, and then ferried it over to the open window upon his gloved hand. Brom watched as the bird took flight out of the tower, and then crossed to the window to make sure it made it over the castle walls. In the gloom of night, Brom quickly lost sight of the bird, so he could only hope that it had gotten out unharmed.

When that task was done, Brom thanked the steward and took his leave. Lingering too long in the tower might rouse suspicion, if indeed anyone had seen him. After all, what need did a gardener have for the castle steward? He didn't think anyone had noticed his presence though, and so he hurried back across the castle to the garden. Before he retired to his hut, he stopped by a section of the strolling gardens to inspect the night-blooming flowers. The flowers―moonflowers, he believed they were called―had white, trumpet-like blooms, and they seemed not to serve any other purpose than to be aesthetically pleasing. Brom wondered which of Morzan's many dark servants had requested them planted. He cut free a few dead blooms, and then continued on his way.

 

* * *

 

Brom sat at a counter in the castle's gigantic kitchen, quietly eating the meal he'd been given that evening. Each of the servants had their own tasks and duties, so they ate at irregular intervals. He just happened to have finished his duties early that day, so he could enjoy a meal by himself. The kitchen maids and cooks were bustling about him, running between this oven and that counter to prepare the meal for Morzan's underlings and, presumably, the Black Hand. Now that she had returned, Brom noticed the servants going about their tasks with a renewed fervor, though not so much as to stick out from the other servants.

As he sat there, Brom watched as the housekeeper—a great beast of a woman—hurried in and out of the kitchen, ordering whatever food and drink would be required for this evening's meal. He counted five times that the woman came back and forth, obviously having been told to fetch some new item. But for all of the activity, Brom noticed that none of the servants spoke to one another outside of giving instructions. He marveled at the depth of their fear, but he understood it completely. Morzan had always been black-of-heart, though it took Brom long enough to figure out. And what he'd seen of Morzan's Black Hand, she seemed just as fearsome as the Red Rider.

When his bowl was finished, Brom exited the kitchen without gaining so much as a glance from the other servants. After he'd first arrived, there had been many questioning glances, and a few outright questions, but now they seemed to be accustomed to his presence. And since he was not gaining so many sideways glances anymore, Brom decided he would explore the castle and try to commit its layout to memory.

Many of the minor lords that served Morzan seemed to be already gathering in the great hall for that night's dinner, so the passageways were virtually deserted. The few servants he did pass did not even glance up at him, which he was thankful for. He traversed the empty corridors and passed by hundreds of rooms, many of which he was not sure of their uses. Most of them, he guessed, were chambers belonging to the lords that served Morzan, and their households. He turned the corner at the end of one corridor and found himself in a passage that was suspended over a section of the gardens, leading to the east wing of the castle. He hurried along it, ducking his head as he passed the windows lest someone should spot him from down below.

Once he was in the east wing, he noticed that not even the servants traveled these passages. The rooms in this wing were Morzan's personal ones, as well as the Hand's. He'd learned that much from Master Avarin. Brom wondered if she was anywhere nearby. If she was, and she somehow spotted him, his whole plan could have been shattered.

Quietly, he walked slowly down one long corridor lined with burning torches, its walls adorned with various tapestries and pieces of artwork. At his left, the wall was completely devoid of any doors, so he knew a very large set of rooms lay beyond it. Perhaps they were Morzan's own personal quarters. At the end of the wall, he saw there was but one door. He stopped in front of the door and tried the latch. It swung inward on quiet hinges, so he knew the entrance was used often. But for what? As quiet as he could, he stole into the dark space.

He dared not use any magic with the Black Hand in the castle, so he had to feel along the walls. It seemed he was in some sort of inner passageway that the servants would have used to travel in and out of the quarters without drawing its occupant's attention. A little ways down, he could see where light was flooding underneath a door, so he made his way to that point. When he reached the door, he noticed it had been left slightly open, enough that he was able to see into the room. What he saw there set his heart to beating rapidly in his chest.

A dark-haired woman clad in black clothes stood over a small bed, one made for a child. There were small rails on the side of the bed, to keep a child from rolling out and onto the floor, and Brom could tell it had been built for a toddler. The woman he immediately recognized as the Hand, which meant the child could only be...

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a soft, lilting voice floating to his ears. " _Lay down your head,_ " she sang quietly, " _and I'll sing you a lullaby, back to the years of loo-li lai-lay. And I'll sing you to sleep, and I'll sing you tomorrow. Bless you with love for the road that you go._ " It was a tune that Brom recognized—some folk song he was sure he'd heard in his childhood—and it stirred a memory within him; a memory of his own mother, in a time long ago. The child within the bed stirred restlessly, and he could see the Hand stroking the child's head in a loving manner, the way only a mother would.

_The Black Hand is the mother of Morzan's son?_

The thought stirred something within Brom. Morzan, he was well acquainted with; how had this woman come to love him enough to give him a child? And what's more, he was aware of the woman's reputation. He imagined that the product of such a union would be something to be feared.

The woman continued singing softly to the Little Lord—Murtagh, he was sure was the child's name—and he thought he could just make out the boy whimpering pitifully. "Hush, my son," the Hand whispered to the boy. "I know... I know."

Brom was beginning to reevaluate his plan. Initially, he'd thought to just assassinate Morzan's Black Hand, but now... Now he knew the woman was a mother, and had shown herself capable of tenderness. Perhaps he would be able to seduce her first, and gain her trust before he did the deed. Perhaps that might be the better way to—

He was cut off abruptly by the banging of a door against a stone wall. The Hand's attention was drawn away from the crib, and she let out an involuntary gasp. Heavy footsteps pounded on the stone floor, and Brom witnessed the Hand begin to tremble slightly. When the man came into his sight, he could guess why. When had he returned to the castle? How could he have been so careless to miss his arrival!

"Selena," Morzan growled threateningly, grabbing hold of her arm and gripping it with alarming force. "What have I told you? You will be permitted to see the child when  _I_ say you may see him, and no other time. I had thought I'd made myself clear the last time." Brom felt his hatred for his childhood friend stirring within him, and it took an incredible amount of self-control for him not to burst from concealment and kill him right there. But he was unarmed, and did not want to risk using magic if he didn't have to. Damn the man; damn him to the seven hells.

"You did, my lord," the woman replied.

"Then why have you defied me?" Brom could just make out the ferocious gleam in Morzan's wolfish, grey eyes. He'd always been a handsome boy—and had grown into a handsome man—and he'd never been shy around the girls. But right now, Brom thought he looked like the monster he truly was inside. Selena cowered before him, her shoulders shaking with her fear. For an instant, Brom felt a rush of sympathy wash over him.

"Our son is sick, my lord. He was crying," she explained, her voice quavering slightly, "and the nurse was nowhere to be found. I was passing by and thought I might comfort him until she returns."

"There are maids for such trivial matters. You need not concern yourself with them." Morzan released her arm with a bit of a push, and Brom could see he'd inflicted some degree of pain by the look on her face. "You will join the nobles in the hall," he continued, his tone only slightly more subdued than it had been, "and I will be there shortly. There are some other matters I must attend to first."

"My lord, if I could stay with him until the nurse returns—" Selena never finished her request. Morzan's hand moved quick as a flash of lightning, making contact with her cheek in a forceful slap. Brom felt himself tense up when the woman cried out and placed a hand to her cheek. She stood there trembling for a moment, but Brom did not think she ever let any tears escape. And when she stood straight again, there was a hard look in her eyes and an angry red mark upon her face.

"Defy me again, and I will personally ensure your son pays for your insolence." Morzan's voice was deathly quiet, a tone he reserved for making threats he had every intention of following through with. Brom knew it well.

"Yes, my lord," Selena said, her voice vacant of all emotion. The Little Lord was crying in earnest now, but Selena never shifted her gaze back to him. And when Morzan turned to exit the room, Brom saw the Black Hand follow him like a dutiful servant. He watched the boy in his crib, large tears streaming down his face as he reached for the retreating form of his mother with anguished cries. And in that moment, his heart broke for the little dark-haired boy. What horrors this child must already have witnessed in his young life. But Brom knew there were only more horrors yet to come.

 

* * *

 

It was two days later when the unexpected happened.

"Gardener!" The voice had a sharp edge like a knife, and it made him stiffen where he was stooped over a flower bed. "I have need of you," she continued. Brom lay down his trowel in the upturned soil and placed the bloom he was about to plant next to it. When he turned, he came face-to-face with the Hand.

"My lady," he mumbled, bowing slightly and taking care not to look her directly in the eye. "How may I be of service?"

"Where is Yöthern, the healer?" Brom could hear the irritation in her voice now.

"I believe he has gone down to Therinsford, my lady. His stores were low, and he had need to replenish them. It seems I do not grow everything he has need of," Brom explained calmly. This answer seemed only to irritate her further.

"Well, perhaps you can help me," she finally said begrudgingly.

"I will do my best, my lady."

"I am in need of something that will reduce a high fever. Do you know of such a tincture?" Brom thought back to the other night, and remembered how she'd told Morzan their child was sick. He was also, in this moment, thankful for Oromis' teachings.

"Of course, my lady," Brom replied, still looking at a point slightly below the gaze of her dark eyes. "I have all the necessary ingredients here on the grounds. Is this for a child?"

Brom saw Selena bristle slightly at that, and her shoulders tensed up. "Why would you ask that?" she demanded hotly.

"The proportions for a tincture intended for a child are wildly different than one intended for an adult," Brom said. "If I give him too much, the child could die."

She seemed to relax, and then said, "Yes, it is for a boy of two. If you will have it delivered to my chambers when it is ready, I will see that it reaches its intended recipient."

Brom bowed slightly at the waist and muttered a quiet, "My lady," before she turned swiftly on her heel and strode off through the gardens. When she was out of his sight, Brom let out a heavy breath and noticed the rapid beating of his heart. If he had to guess, he would say that Selena had waited so long to come for the tincture because Morzan had not vacated the castle until last night. And after witnessing their meeting in the nursery, Brom was not surprised by this. What he had not expected, however, was that she would come for the tincture herself, instead of sending one of the servants.

And as Brom returned to his trowel and his gardenia bloom, he could not help but think that it was a testament to how much she truly loved her son. Perhaps there was more to the Black Hand than he'd originally thought.


	2. Part Two

Brom had been trapped in this hell for close to a year now. He was near to giving up on his revenge mission. Perhaps this had all been foolishness from the very beginning. Very little useful information had come out of his infiltrating the castle, but his superiors assured him that he was in a very strategic position, and should remain there. He was able to monitor Morzan and Selena's comings and goings from the castle. And, with the help of Master Avarin, he was able to intercept a few messages containing valuable information, but those were few and far between. And he was growing tired of tending to the plants every day.

But underneath all of his disenchantment and complaining, there was a fire in his belly that kept him going; that made him continue on, even when it all seemed so pointless. That fire was revenge. And as he lay in his cot one night after a long, dull day with very little to do, his thoughts turned once again to the reason for his revenge: Saphira.

He could see her now, in his mind's eye. They were soaring high up in the air, gliding over mountains and plains and trees and rivers, not a care in the world. That seemed like nearly a lifetime ago.

_Brom!_ her voice sounded in his head, though it sounded like it was from a great distance. _Let's go higher! Faster!_ She laughed jubilantly and let out a triumphant bugle, the light of the sun catching her sapphire scales in a brilliant flash. They had been so young then, just starting out as dragon and Rider. They did not know the great pain that awaited them.

Without meaning to, his thoughts turned to Morzan and his utter betrayal. It was bad enough that he would betray the Riders and join that blackguard of a traitor, Galbatorix, but to kill his _dragon..._? Brom's fists clenched where they lay at his side. They had been boys together; knew everything there was to know about one another. But that was before... Now, he would like nothing more than to cause Morzan the same harm he'd inflicted upon him. And that had been his mission when he'd first come to this place. But that goal seemed to slip further and further away with each passing day.

He hadn't gotten another chance to speak with the Hand since she'd come to him for a tincture almost six months ago. She was a secretive and solitary woman, and most of her errands she gave to her many servants. But when it came to her son, that was a different matter. Brom had watched as the woman agonized over being separated from her child. Selena would do whatever she could, no matter how small the act, to have a positive affect upon her son. And Brom had to wonder if the Little Lord was made aware of how much his mother loved him.

As of late, Brom had found his thoughts regarding the Black Hand and her young son turning to sympathy rather than malice. They seemed trapped here, just as much as he was trapped here by his need for vengeance. The longer he stayed, and the more he watched, the more he realized that Morzan only used the boy as a tool to control his mother. Morzan bore no love for his own child, and that notion disgusted Brom. He'd resolved himself to try and help the boy, in whatever way he could. And if he ever got the chance to leave this place, he would attempt to take the boy with him.

 

* * *

 

Brom was awoken from his slumber by the agonized screams of a woman.

He was out of his cot and on his feet in a matter of seconds. Every fiber of his being was on alert for whatever might come. There came another scream, and he was on the move, pulling on his worn boots and a shabby overcoat of blue wool. It was nearing autumn, and the nights were chilly. He left the hut in a flash, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

She screamed again, and this time he could make out her words. "Someone help me!" Her voice was a strangled sob, and Brom felt his heart clench in his chest. He sprinted along the seashell paths of the garden, the broken oyster shells crunching and crackling beneath his frantic feet. Again, the woman cried out, and this time Brom thought he could make out where she was. He rounded the path around a tree and saw the terrace spread out before him. And on the terrace, he saw the woman.

"Please! Help me! Someone!" she cried, looking around her frantically. Brom skid to a stop upon the brick pavers and came up to the woman. She looked a mess, with her hair falling down loosely in waves and her nightgown disheveled. But what alarmed him the most was the stark splash of crimson against the white silk of her robe.

"Madame," he said breathlessly, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. She snapped her head to look at him, dark eyes wide in shock and terror, and then he knew her... _Selena._ "My lady, what is it? Tell me what's happened." Brom looked down and saw where she held her hands before her. They were covered in blood.

"Help me, please," she begged, her voice a pitiful whisper.

"Show me," Brom said simply, placing a hand on her shoulder to ground her back in reality. She nodded quickly and then turned, jogging back along the terrace and into the castle. Brom wondered why she'd come to the terrace looking for help, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. She was picking up speed, and he was having a difficult time keeping up with her frenzied pace. They traversed the castle corridors and a lightning speed, and Brom noticed they crossed into the east wing. When they came to the foyer leading into the dining room, dread struck Brom's heart as he realized why Selena was covered in blood.

The Little Lord lay face down in the foyer, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. They came to stop beside the boy, and Brom dropped to his knees.

"Help him, please," Selena said in a tortured sob. The boy's back had been laid open by a sword, and was rent from shoulder to hip. It was a clean wound, but it was deep, and the boy was bleeding badly. Brom could not begin to imagine how this had happened, but then he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye.

He looked over at the door that led into the dining room, and saw a crimson blade resting on the floor, its edge coated in the boy's blood. Hatred bubbled up in Brom's chest as realization dawned on him. But he didn't have time to think about that right now. The child was dying at his feet.

Quickly, Brom scooped the boy up in his arms, making sure his face stayed towards the ground so he would not come in contact with the wound. In the cases of wounds like these, it was more often infection that killed rather than the wound itself. Selena gasped aloud and raced after Brom as he ran.

"Don't hurt him!" she cried.

"The boy is unconscious, mercifully," Brom replied, still managing to keep his voice calm. "He can't feel anything right now." He picked up his pace, effectively silencing anymore conversation. But Selena's footsteps were never very far behind his. They traveled back to the west wing and through the strolling gardens to the prayer garden. Yöthern kept his quarters behind the garden and close to the library.

When they reached his quarters, Brom pounded on the door with his foot until the older man opened up, eyes still bleary from sleep. Brom did not need to say anything, for the healer noticed the boy in his arms almost immediately.

"Bring him in, quickly," he said. Yöthern stepped aside and Brom moved swiftly past him while Selena followed closely behind the two men. The healer indicated Brom should lay the boy down on a wooden table that came up to waist height. As gingerly as possible, Brom laid him down and sent a silent prayer of thanks up to the gods that he had remained unconscious. If he'd been awake, the pain would be utterly unbearable.

Yöthern bustled over to the opposite side of the table after retrieving his spectacles and inspected the hideous wound. He sucked in his breath in a sort of wheezing gasp which accompanied the little whimpers that were escaping Selena's mouth. Brom turned to her and saw tears streaming down her beautiful face, and he felt the overwhelming need to reach out and embrace her, if only to offer some small comfort in the midst of this horrible tragedy. But he restrained himself. The Black Hand may not have been in control of her mental faculties at the moment, but she certainly would be later, and she would remember that.

"How did this happen?" Yöthern questioned, gingerly touching the inflamed skin around the laceration. Brom looked at Selena, but she seemed not to have heard the man, for her dark eyes never left the prone form of her son.

So, Brom said, "It was a sword. I have reason to believe that it was thrown across a room, with the intention of harming the boy." The old healer looked up at him, his eyes full of disbelief and questions.

"Who would wish to inflict harm on the Little Lord?"

Selena drew in a sharp breath of air, and then released it in a strangled sob. "His father," she whispered. "The Red Rider, Morzan." This last part she practically spat out in disgust. Yöthern looked back and forth between Brom and Selena for a moment, but he said no more on the matter. Brom saw that he would save his questions for later. He went back to inspecting the wound for another few moments, and then hurried over―as much as an old man can hurry, that is―to his medicine cabinet.

For several minutes, the healer moved around this vial or that container, only to huff and shake his head and move on to a different section of the cabinet. He picked up a few vials along the way, and then turned back to the table.

"You are the castle garden, are you not?" he asked of Brom. Without a word, Brom nodded his head. "Good. I am in need of materials. Fetch me goldenseal and comfrey root for a poultice. And be quick about it; the Little Lord's life depends on your haste." Brom did not waste time with words. He hurried out of the healer's quarters and into his garden, that he'd taken such care in cultivating over the past year.

The goldenseal was easily procured from the herb bed, but the comfrey root was decidedly less so. He couldn't remember if it was next to the mandrake root or the marshmallow root, and his faulty memory cost him precious time. Eventually, he found the root and dug it up with his bare hands, not even caring how his fingers ached and bled. When the root was free, he hurried back to Yöthern's quarters and handed over the needed ingredients. Yöthern thanked him quietly and began grinding the materials into a poultice. When that was done, he applied the poultice to the Little Lord's back as gently as possible. After the poultice was applied, he wrapped the wound in thick linen bandages and then took a small dropper full of a dark red liquid and placed the liquid in the boy's mouth. All the while, Selena continued to cry in great shuddering gasps.

"I've administered a sleeping draught," Yöthern said to the still-shocked Selena. "It will ensure that he stays asleep for at least a day, but after that... I cannot say what kind of pain he will be in. And the wound will leave a scar. I do not know how long this will take to heal, my lady." Selena was crying quietly now, but she flicked her gaze up to the healer and nodded quickly.

"Thank you, for all your help," she said softly.

"Would you escort the Lady Selena back to her chambers?" Yöthern asked Brom. "And then I would have cause to speak with you."

"Of course," Brom mumbled, bowing slightly. Then he turned to Selena, though her gaze did not shift to him. "My lady, shall we?" She stood there staring at her son mournfully, and Brom could see how torn she was. He knew she longed to stay with her son, but Morzan would be furious if he ever found out she was here. And so, with great pain, she turned away from her son and walked out of the room, Brom following quickly behind.

They walked through the prayer garden, passing by sculptures and fountains of the gods. Selena never spared any of them a glance. In fact, Brom noticed that her gaze remained stoically forward, seemingly fixed on some point within the strolling gardens. She picked up her pace slightly as they entered that space meant for lazily idling in the summer heat and engaging in small talk. Brom followed quickly behind until she suddenly stopped and fell to her knees upon the seashell path. He could not understand why, until he noticed _where_ it was she had stopped. For before her was the bed filled with white moonflowers, all of them in full bloom under the veil of night.

She stayed kneeling there for a long time, so long that Brom began to feel uncomfortable, like he was intruding on some private moment of reflection. Selena kept her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her, and Brom stood slightly behind her, just watching and waiting. Was she praying? Crying? He could not say.

"Do you believe in the gods, Gardener?" she suddenly asked, breaking the spell that had hung over them.

He did not know what to say. What did she want to hear? And what was she hoping to accomplish by kneeling here by the flowers? After much deliberation, he finally said, "Yes, my lady. I believe in the countless, nameless gods of old."

"You are a pagan then." Her voice held no condemnation, nor any question. It was completely and utterly devoid of emotion, as though she thought she might be dreaming. "Tell me," she continued, "what do your pagan gods say about those who harm children?"

Brom was silent for a long time, wracking his brain to try and remember the teachings of the gods his mother had tried to instill in him as a boy. That had been so long ago... and he had never returned home after becoming a Rider. He'd only answered as he did because he thought it would mollify the Hand. But it seemed he'd been mistaken. Finally, the answer came to him. "The gods tell us we must care for the weak and helpless, and I suppose that would include children, my lady. As to those who harm the weak and innocent, they are doomed to burn in the pit fires of hell." He fell silent, waiting for her reaction. As he watched her, he noticed that she raised her eyes to the sky above and stared at the stars.

"I do not believe in the gods," she said after a long while, quite startling Brom. "They are cold and unfeeling, and they long ago abandoned this world. Why should I believe in them when they do not believe in me?"

Brom knew he should have kept his mouth shut; should have stood there silently like a good servant. But he was not a servant... he was a Dragon Rider. "They have not abandoned you, my lady," he said quietly. Tentatively, he took a step towards her. "If they had abandoned you, I would not have found you crying out for help to save your son." Slowly, he reached out a hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. He was expecting her to be affronted that a servant would dare touch the Lady of the castle. But she was not. Instead, she reached up her own hand and placed it over his, and then she began to sob.

Her body was wracked with convulsions, and Brom could not bear to see her this way. Whatever his intentions had been at the start of this mission, he felt them melting away to be replaced with a warmth that spread throughout his chest and settled in his stomach, rooting him to the ground. He did not know what this warmth was, but it led him to fall to his knees at her side and fold her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her against him. She continued to cry, but she did so into his chest, gripping the fabric of his tunic as tightly as if she were a woman drowning at sea.

For a while, he just held her until her tears subsided. They were replaced with little hiccuping sobs as she tried to catch her breath, until she finally fell quiet. Brom did not say a word; he was afraid of breaking the spell. And what could he say? Here he was, supposedly a lowly gardener, comforting and consoling Morzan's second-in-command. Yet he did not feel ashamed. In fact, this felt like the most natural thing he'd ever done besides being bonded to Saphira.

At the thought of his slain dragon, Brom pulled away, suddenly reminded of his mission. He stood and took a step back from her, clasping his hands behind his back and bowing his head. Though he maintained an outwardly calm demeanor, inside... he felt as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

"I am sorry, my lady," he whispered hoarsely. "I do not know what came over me." She stood and looked at him, an odd expression upon her face that Brom could not place.

"What is your name, Gardener?" she asked, eyeing him quizzically.

For a split second, he almost told her his real name, nearly forgetting himself in his emotion. But then, he said, "Thane, my lady. My name is Thane."

"Well, Thane," she said slowly, "if there is any fault in what transpired between us this night, it lies with me. Do not concern yourself with this." He looked up at her, meeting her dark gaze, and realized that her steely demeanor had returned, albeit slightly altered. There was that same hardness evident in her eyes, but there seemed to be something changed in her. Though he could not say what it was.

"Yes, my lady," was all he dared say in response.

"I'll see myself back to my chambers." Her voice was clipped, but Brom thought he might have sensed some other emotion there. He did not get a chance to decipher her face any longer, for she turned on her heel and strode away, the bloody hem of her nightgown trailing behind her.

 

* * *

 

Brom returned quickly to Yöthern's chambers. The little boy still lay unconscious on the table, but he knew that their conversation would not wake him after the sleeping draught he'd been given.

"Was the lady safely returned to her bed?" Yöthern asked.

"Aye, she was," Brom lied. He had hoped for the better part of the last year to get the man alone like this, but he was not happy to see it under these circumstances. "I doubt she will be getting much sleep though."

"No, I daresay she will not," the old man mumbled. He fiddled with a few trinkets on his desk, and then turned his blue gaze to Brom. "Tell me what you saw." The request was simple enough, but Brom could understand the implication. If the man was a supporter of Galbatorix's empire, anything Brom said could have dire consequences. If, however, the man supported the Varden... Brom had come this far on caution; he decided he could risk this.

"I saw the Little Lord lying in a pool of his own blood, just outside the dining room. What he was doing there this late at night, I couldn't say. The Hand, I found screaming for help out on the terrace, covered in her child's blood. And by the boy, I saw a crimson blade. If I'm not mistaken, that belongs to the master." It pained Brom to act the humble servant, but he knew he must.

Yöthern chewed on this information for a moment, his aging blue eyes flicking up to Brom's face every now and then. After a while, he said, "It is a terrible crime that has been committed this night. And I shall count it a miracle if the Little Lord ever walks again. This wound shall plague him 'til the end of his days. A vile man..." This last thought he let trail into silence, but it did not escape Brom's notice. He inspected the old healer's face for a moment.

"You are not fond of Lord Morzan then, I take it?" he questioned cautiously. Yöthern gazed at him in alarm, and then peered out the window over Brom's shoulder, presumably to check that they were indeed alone.

"This castle has many eyes and ears," the old man said in a hoarse whisper. "It is dangerous, the things you speak of."

"I have more cause to hate the master than most, but after what I saw tonight..." He realized he may have said too much.

"Who are you?" Yöthern said, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

"I am an ally to the Varden," Brom whispered in response. The old man sucked in his breath, and Brom steeled himself for the worst. But Yöthern eventually settled back in his chair, huffing and mumbling to himself in an inaudible rumble.

"So they've infiltrated the castle at last," he said.

"Aye, I am spying on Morzan's movements for them. Master Avarin is an ally as well," Brom explained, hoping very much that the old man's reaction meant he could be trusted.

"I was aware of Avarin's involvement with the Varden, but I never dreamed they would send one of their agents into our very midst. How did you manage to get in?" he asked.

"There was a fault in one of the wards around the castle," Brom replied slowly, not sure how much to tell the old man. "It took many months of biding my time and inspecting every single ward, but I finally found it. I've been here for close to a year, though there is little information coming out of the castle of late."

"You must certainly be dedicated to the Varden to expend so much time and energy on this mission."

_You have no idea, old man,_ Brom thought to himself. He kept his mouth firmly shut in a thin line. "I would be grateful for any help you could provide," he finally stated, "if you are an ally to us as well." The old man seemed to ponder this for a long while, staring blankly at the wood floor beneath him.

Suddenly, he looked up at Brom, and there seemed to be new light in his eyes. "Too long I have lived under the Red Rider's oppression," he said, shifting his gaze to look at the sleeping boy on his table. "And this _vile_ act has pushed me over the brink. It may be an enormous risk, but I will do what I can to help you."

"We are grateful to you," Brom replied, letting out the breath he realized he'd been holding. "Is there anything you can tell me about him? You have been his servant for a very long time, have you not?"

"It has been nearly fifty years," the old man said wistfully, "and all that time I have been treating those that live here, as well as the master. There is something..." He paused for a moment. "Morzan is a very powerful magician, as is his dragon. In all my years, I have seen them grow unnaturally stronger every day. But there is something else... He is not invincible to the ailments that so often plague the human race."

"What do you mean?"

"It is a rare disease these days, and one that is resistant against magic," Yöthern explained quietly, leaning forward again. "It has been close to twenty years, and I have not been able to do much more than keep it at bay. He hides it well, but I can see that the disease weighs on him heavily."

"What is it?" Brom asked in breathless anticipation.

"It is the White Plague." Brom sucked in his breath quickly, completely caught off guard by what the old man said. He remembered the days, so long ago, when the White Plague spread across the land. It killed hundreds of thousands of people that lived in the squalors of Alagaësia's larger cities. Dras-Leona had been hit the hardest. It took mostly children; their bodies were not strong enough to fight off the disease that affected the bones and the lungs.

"Have there been any more documented cases within the castle?" Brom asked hastily, eyeing Morzan's son.

"None so far," the old man replied. "His wards are able to keep the disease from spreading to others, but magic cannot cure the disease, only subdue it for a time. Of late, I have noticed a heightening of the effects upon him. I fear that after the disease has lingered for so long, it is finally catching up with him."

Brom could not have heard better news. Morzan was dying, albeit slowly. He would be weak, and distracted. The circumstances could not have been more perfect. "Thank you for sharing this information," Brom said quietly. He would think on this more, and decide what the best course of action would be. But for the first time in over a year, he was beginning to see hope in the bleak darkness that had surrounded him for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Please comment or like! :-)
> 
> P.S. ("The White Plague" is another name for tuberculosis)


	3. Part Three

The next night, Brom could hear Murtagh's screams from across the gardens, echoing through the night air like some wailing banshee. At his cries, a tear escaped from Brom's eye, tracing its way down his bearded face. It was unbearable to hear the little boy going through so much pain and not understanding what happened. Brom very much doubted the boy ever would understand the depth of his father's cruelty. Nor did he wish for him to understand. Brom had seen enough of the evil that lay within Morzan's heart, and he knew Selena had seen enough as well; he would never wish that knowledge on another. But the boy would carry that scar as a stark reminder for the rest of his life, however long that would be. Brom feared Morzan would eventually tire of using the boy, and would dispatch of him.

But what angered him more was that Selena could not go to her son, for fear of Morzan discovering it. The way he treated them both, it was despicable. He'd lain awake all night thinking of her, and he could not understand why. She was the enemy; his foe; the vessel for exacting his revenge. And yet... Last night, when he'd held her in his arms as she sobbed for the atrocities committed against her son, all of his inhibitions and reservations had melted away into nothingness. Why had he allowed himself to do that? What was she to him? The more he thought about it, the more he dreaded the answer...

A knock at the door of his cottage jolted him out of his thoughts. He peeked out the window, and saw the sky was pitch black. Who would be calling at this hour? The opening of the door revealed to him the absolute last person he would have expected.

"Thane," she said quietly. "I don't mean to disturb you, and I'm sorry if I have." Brom stared at Selena, dumbstruck. What was she doing here?

"It is no matter, my lady," he mumbled, his eyes still wide in surprise. "How may I be of service to you?" Brom finally regained enough of his senses to avert his eyes from her face.

She stared at him for a long time, chewing at the inside of her cheek out of nervous habit. Her dark eyes bored into his, and finally she said, "May I come in?"

"Of course, my lady." He stepped aside, and held out an arm to usher her into his humble shack. She walked in quickly, her back as straight as a board.

"And may we dispense with such formalities?" she said, her voice slightly betraying her annoyance.

Brom bit back the words that teetered on the edge of his tongue, and instead settled for a simple, "If you wish."

Selena looked about the cottage. It was a small place, but Brom kept it tidy and organized. It was the only way he could stay sane in this place. Finally, the Black Hand took a seat at his modest table, and gazed up at him with an odd look in her eyes.

"May I get you something to drink? Or perhaps a small morsel..." At her silence, Brom let the question fade away. What was she doing here?

"Do you know why I have come?" she said quietly. Her voice was not commanding, as Brom had expected. Rather, it seemed desperate.

"I must confess, I do not," he replied warily. He could not help but notice how different she seemed from last night. Whereas the night before she had been frantic and disheveled in her nightgown, now she was composed in dark clothes that he knew she wore when she was on a mission for Morzan.

"It has to do with what happened last evening," she continued. "I know that you know who did that unspeakable thing to my son. And I'm here to ask your help."

"With what, my lady?" He could not help himself but to use the formalities he'd become accustomed to.

"I am going to kill Morzan." Her voice was calm and assured, but he saw the fear swimming in her eyes. At her admission, Brom felt his hands begin to shake slightly, and the first thought that came to his mind was in wonder if this could be a trap.

He was quiet for a very long time, just staring back at her, trying to divine if she was being truthful or not. He inspected her posture, and she seemed confident. And then he remembered how he'd seen her singing to her son, and he knew that she meant every word she'd spoken. "And you need my help?" he finally asked, his voice sounding raspy to his own ears.

"It will be easier with two of us," she explained, and he could hear the relief in her voice. "And I know you abhor my husband for what he did." Brom thought she could not know how true that statement was.

"It is a terrible thing, my lady," he whispered. "But what can I do to help you?"

"You have an advantage here that I do not. And that is invisibility. As a servant, you have the ability to move about the castle virtually unnoticed, and that is something I greatly need. While I am the one who is closest to him, there are things even I do not know about Morzan. Mainly his weaknesses."

"What do you know of his sickness?" Brom questioned, finally taking a seat at the table across from her.

"Sickness?" She eyed him questioningly. "What are you speaking of?"

"It seems he's kept it hidden better than I thought," Brom said, mostly to himself. "The healer told me that he gives Morzan a tincture for the White Plague." Selena sucked in her breath in surprise. She knew as well as he what a disease as deadly as the White Plague could do to the castle. "Yöthern assures me that it is contained," Brom continued swiftly, "but the disease is slowly killing him."

"How slowly?" she asked.

"It's impossible to know with his extended lifespan," Brom replied. "It could be another ten years, it could be another hundred."

"I cannot afford to wait for some disease to end his life," she spat derisively. She looked away, contemplating the thoughts that raged around in her mind. Then, she looked at Brom warily. "Why would Yöthern share this information with you?" Her voice held notes of accusation, and Brom began to worry. Should he tell her? Can she be trusted? He decided he did not have much of a choice.

"Because I questioned him on it last night, after you'd returned to your chambers," he said quietly. "Ever since I came here, my intention has been to accomplish the very thing you request my help for. For the past year, I have searched for a way to kill Morzan. And now, with you, I think I finally know how to do it."

Her eyes searched his face questioningly, and Brom knew that this was the moment; he would either finally get his chance to be rid of Morzan once and for all, or his own life was about to end. Finally, after moment's of breathless anticipation, Selena said, "What ill will do you bear him? What has he done to you?"

"He killed the one who was most precious to me." Brom swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at the thought of Saphira. Over a year had passed, and yet the wound still felt as fresh as the day she'd died.

"Your wife?" Selena asked with a pitying gaze.

Brom shook his head, furrowing his brow angrily. "No, not my wife." He hesitated only momentarily, and then he saw the realization upon her face. "He slew my dragon. Morzan was my best friend, and he betrayed me."

"It's you," she said in a breathless whisper. The shock was evident on her face, and Brom was sure she would leap up from the table to run from him. But she surprised him by staying. "You're Brom, aren't you?" He nodded slightly, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Selena averted her gaze finally, staring blankly at the floor for a long while. Brom thought she must be weighing her options, and deciding what to do.

"Well," she finally uttered, shifting her dark eyes back to his face, "it seems I have made a better decision than I'd originally thought." Brom felt a weight lift off his shoulders. She was not going to betray him. "I am sorry for what he did to you, and to your dragon," she continued, quite surprising Brom with the tenderness in her voice. "But now we shall join our hatred to end him, once and for all."

And so, well into the wee morning hours, they devised a plan.

 

* * *

 

Selena visited him often over the next several weeks, whenever she was at the castle. Morzan seemed to be sending her on more missions lately, and Brom found himself cherishing the time they had together. Against his better judgment, he knew he was developing feelings for her. There was something changed about her, since the incident with Murtagh, and he recognized the hatred in her eyes. It was the same hatred he'd harbored against Morzan for so long.

It had been almost two months since they'd first hatched their plan, and they'd altered and tweaked it many times since then, but now, it was finally ready. She came to him late one night, and told him of the impending visit from a local dignitary. That would be their one and only chance. The visit was still two months away, but he found himself pacing in anticipation nearly every day as he thought about it. His revenge was so close, he could almost taste it. The prospect was nearly overwhelming.

But all of that changed one wintry day, as he trimmed the winter hedges about the terrace. It was growing late in the afternoon, and he would be retiring for dinner soon. But the unexpected appearance of Avarin stopped him in his tracks.

The little bespectacled man stood hidden partly by a hedge, and he beckoned Brom closer to him. "To the rookery," he whispered urgently, "quick as you can." The steward scuttled quickly off, leaving Brom in a dazed state. What was that all about? He dropped his shears in the dirt, and followed quickly behind Avarin to the tower he called home.

Once at the top, Avarin handed over a sealed letter, not uttering a word. Brom stroked the cream envelope with his calloused fingers, catching his breath as he recognized the seal. Quickly, he tore into the letter and began reading as swiftly as his eyes would allow. The words he found there set his heart to racing.

"What news?" Avarin asked impatiently.

Brom finished reading the letter, and then let his arm fall to his side. The words were caught in his throat; he could hardly believe them. Finally, he uttered, "I must leave."

"What, now?" the steward said. "What did the letter say?"

"I must leave the castle," Brom said, firmer this time. His meaning finally settled on Avarin, and the little man fell quiet. "The opportunity we have waited so long for has finally arrived. The Varden is in need of my help."

"B-but," the steward stuttered, "your mission—?"

"Must wait," Brom cut him off bitterly. He stewed on his thoughts a moment longer, and then released a heavy sigh. He looked over at the steward. "I thank you greatly, for all of your help. Perhaps I will come back one day, to finish what I started. But until then, I wish you well." Avarin said not a word, only nodded in recognition of his thanks. Brom left the tower as swiftly as he came, the echo of the ravens cries following him all the way down.

 

* * *

 

Selena was not so understanding as Avarin.

"We are mere weeks away from accomplishing our goal, Brom," she seethed quietly, trying to contain her anger and not scream at him, as he knew she wished she could. "And now you tell me you must leave immediately? What has changed? Are you no longer dedicated to our goal? Have you had second thoughts about me?"

"None of that is true, Selena, and you know it," Brom shot back at her. She clamped her mouth shut, but her hands remained firmly fixed to her hips in an angry gesture. "But I have realized that there are things in this world that are more important than my own thirst for revenge."

"What is more important than killing the king's right-hand man?" She threw her arms out to the side in exasperation.

"Ensuring the survival of my people," he replied as calmly as he could. At that, Selena went quiet, and her arms fell limply to her sides.

"What do you mean?"

Brom sighed heavily, and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I wish I could tell you," he muttered in a defeated tone. "But as an agent of the Varden, I cannot. It is nothing personal, Selena, I hope you know that. But in time, if we are successful, you will understand why I cannot stay to complete our task."

He could tell there were more things she wished to say, but she remained silent, hanging her head in defeat. "Very well," she whispered. "Though I may never understand it, I accept that you must leave." Brom let out the breath he'd been holding in relief. He did not know if he could leave were she still angry with him. He walked over to her slowly, and put an arm around her shoulder to pull her into his chest. In the weeks since they'd been meeting in secret, they had grown close to one another, and she'd allowed Brom to be physically affectionate. Now, she nuzzled her head against him, closing her eyes so he could not see the tears forming there.

He stroked her dark hair tenderly, reveling in this moment for as long as he could. In these past weeks, Brom had realized that the feelings he'd harbored for her were growing stronger, into something more than mere affection. For all of the things he'd believed about her at the start, she'd proved them all wrong. She was not the callous, unfeeling warrior he'd imagined her to be. No... She was tender, and had an enormous capacity for love, most of all for her son.

"I wish that we could come with you," she suddenly whispered, giving him pause. He stopped stroking her head, and pushed her away from him slightly so that they might look each other in the eye.

"You cannot, Selena," he told her sadly. "Morzan would never leave you alone with Murtagh long enough for you to spirit him away. And where would you go?"

"Anywhere," she replied wistfully. "We could even go home, to Carvahall. He'd never think to look for us there."

"It is too dangerous, Selena," Brom said seriously. "Morzan will not take this betrayal lightly. He will hunt you down to the very ends of the earth, and he will make your son pay for it." She cast her eyes down to the floor, quickly realizing that he was right.

"I cannot stand it here much longer," she muttered.

"When this is over," he said, angling her chin up to look at him, "I will return to finish what we started. And then I will take you and your son away from here." She blinked slowly a few times, not really registering what he had just said. And Brom never knew what came over him when he leaned just the slightest bit forward, tasting her lips as he had longed to for months now. She didn't pull away and shout as he had expected her to. In fact, she grabbed onto the collar of his tunic desperately, pulling him impossibly closer to her body. His hand cupped the back of her neck, and the other went about her waist, gripping on to her for dear life. A fire was ignited in his soul, one that he had never felt before in all his years of living.

Their passion could not be met with the fervor of their movements. The longer he stayed kissing her, the more he realized it was not enough. Brom threw all caution to the wind as he gripped at the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and over her head, breaking away from their passionate embrace just long enough to let the fabric pass. At any moment, he expected her to tell him to stop, to shove him away and leave. But she didn't. If anything, she encouraged him with every moan and whimper that escaped her mouth.

Brom did not know if all they had done, and would do, was because he was leaving this place in the morning. But in that moment, when everything seemed to align perfectly, he did not care.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is some graphic material in this chapter. Read at your own discretion.

How could the man have been so stupid! It had taken them the better part of a year to finally put these plans into action, and that idiot Hefring had damned them all with his accursed stupidity. Granted, someone within the capital had betrayed him, but Brom was under the impression that the Varden's agents were more skilled than that.

Word had reached him two days ago that the plot had been foiled. There weren't any details as to who the traitor was, but it didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered was retrieving the one egg Hefring had managed to secure. Last he'd heard from his contact in Meadowbridge—a small town located twenty leagues west of Bullridge—Hefring had passed that way not two days ago, headed north unto Gil'ead. He had secured a fresh horse from the contact, and sped north as fast as the steed would carry him.

Now, as dusk gathered at the edge of his vision, he could just make out the flickering lights of Gil'ead's imposing fortress on the horizon. He only hoped that it was not too late. Two more hours and the blackness of night found him outside the military city. Where would that thrice-damned fool be? Did he even stop here? Or continue on to some unknown destination?

Brom angled his horse to the outskirts of the city, towards a small wooded hill just beyond the fortress. It was covered in shadow, but something unexplainable was drawing him towards it. A sense that this was the place he'd find Hefring and recover that most precious of items. Even if it was only one, instead of the intended three the man was supposed to steal. Brom dismounted the chestnut palfrey and sent him off to munch on some grass with a gentle prod at the beast's mind. He made his way towards the ring of trees, presumably containing a clearing on its summit. The Rider drew his longsword, the silver light of the full moon casting a gleam along the edge. Then, a sound split the calm night air, making Brom stop dead in his tracks.

It was the blood-curdling scream of one who has just met Death.

The scream faded away until silence once again reigned. Another, unmistakable sound filled his ears. _"_ Damn it," he muttered under his breath, racing through the trees and up the small hill as fast as his feet would take him. There came the sound of dragon wings rustling against one another, and Brom's heartbeat quickened anxiously. A few more long strides up the gently sloping hill and he was at it's summit, facing down the person he hated most in this world.

"I wondered when you would make an appearance," Morzan said in a low, controlled voice. Every word dripped poison, but his handsome face remained composed, infuriatingly unreadable. Brom didn't respond, as his eyes were too busy taking in the sight before him, his mind trying to work out what he could do, if anything.

Morzan's enormous, blood-red dragon rose up ominously behind him, his amber eyes gleaming wickedly with bloodlust. Once, Brom had known this dragon as deeply as he once thought he'd known Morzan. But after their betrayal, everything had changed. The dragons had cast their magic, stripping every dragon of the Forsworn of their identities, even their true names. Not even Brom could remember their names. This monster before him was nothing more than a mindless beast, devoid of any conscious thought or moral center. And he would die like a beast.

In one hand, Morzan held his blood-red sword aloft, ready for any surprise assault. And in the other, he clutched what appeared to be a flawless, sapphire stone, but that Brom knew was so much more. In the moonlight, it seemed to glow from within its very depths. Brom's breath caught in his throat when he noticed the body of his agent lying not too far away. Blood pooled beneath the man's chest, and his eyes were locked on the sky above in the stare of the dead.

"You cannot hope to defeat both of us. Surely you must know that, Brom." He looked back at Morzan, hatred burning in his chest until it felt as though it might consume him entirely.

"I do not need to defeat both of you," he spat back at the older man. "You are the only one that needs to die. When you are slain, your dragon will follow soon after."

"We shall see." Morzan placed the egg next to Hefring's body, making sure it was out of the way before he turned back to face Brom. Once, in a time long ago, Brom would never have attacked an opponent while his back was turned. There was no honor in fighting that way; Oromis had taught him that... had taught both of them that. But things were different now. This was not a battle for honor. It was a battle of survival, and one of them was sure to die this very night. Brom was determined to make sure that person was not him.

Morzan barely got Zar'roc up in time to block Brom's vicious blow at his neck. "Attacking a man while his back is turned?" Morzan growled through gritted teeth. He shoved Brom away with relative ease, having at least two inches and twenty pounds on him. "That's not like you, Brom. If only your dragon still lived, Galbatorix might yet have made you a Forsworn after all." He let out a cruel laugh, striding towards Brom at an alarming pace.

"Brisingr," Brom hissed, and blue flames shot from the palm of his hand. Morzan only smiled wickedly as the fire spread around him and dissipated harmlessly against his wards. Brom cursed silently to himself at his own stupidity. Of course Galbatorix would have imbued his most powerful servant with incredible amounts of magic.

The Red Rider continued striding forward, unfazed. But Brom was backpedaling, straight into the waiting claws of Morzan's dragon. He could feel his energy flagging as his wards were sapped of their strength, having protected him from the brutal swipe his back had just received. Brom turned and saw the dragon coming for him again, his toothy maw opened far enough to swallow him whole. He shouted a few words in the ancient language and the dragon's mouth clamped shut against his will, bound by the magic Brom had cast. The great, red dragon buried his shoulder into the ground, falling with an earth-shaking thud and clawing desperately at his mouth. The spell of the dragons had stripped him of his magic as well, and he had no hope of breaking the enchantment that trapped him now.

Morzan growled angrily, the façade he so carefully held cracking just the tiniest bit. In a whirl of movement, Brom turned back to the Red Rider, raising his sword to block the heavy blow that would have caught him right in the chest.

"Your dragon is nothing more than a mindless beast," Brom said with acid in his voice. "Now it's just you and me."

"As it was always destined to be," Morzan returned, pushing back and entering a dueling stance. He began circling the younger man, angling for any weaknesses in his defense. Brom was covered in light plate armor from the shoulders down, his head the only part of him being uncovered. Ever since he was a boy, he'd always hated fighting with a helm on. It dulled his senses and limited his sight, and made him tire quicker. Morzan, for his part, only wore a heavy leather jerkin and greaves. It seemed he hadn't expected Brom to make his appearance tonight.

Their swords came together in a deafening crash, silver and red meeting in a shower of orange sparks. Behind them, Morzan's dragon continued to growl and whimper as he uselessly pawed at his mouth, drawing blood from his own snout. Brom hefted his sword over his head, aiming a strike at the joining of Morzan's shoulder and neck. But he swiped Brom's sword away with a slash of his own, quickly maneuvering into his own attack. Brom had to jump back to avoid getting a slash to his middle.

As Brom jumped, Morzan stumbled forward, losing his balance for a split second. His hands hit the ground in a jolting impact, loosening Zar'roc from his grasp just enough the Brom could kick it away. The blade flew from Morzan's hand to land uselessly in the grass three feet away. Brom lodged the edge of his sword at Morzan's neck, pricking the skin and drawing a thin line of blood to trail down the blade.

"You will pay for your crimes, Morzan," Brom seethed venomously. Suddenly, Morzan began to laugh. It began as a slight chuckle, but quickly spread into a maniacal cackling. Brom hedged slightly, thrown off by this unexpected outburst. It took only a moment for his laughter to evolve into a coughing fit, blood spraying from Morzan's mouth to splatter on the ground. He hacked violently for another few moments, until the fits subsided and Morzan was left gasping for breath.

"It must satisfy you to see me like this." There was something different in Morzan's voice now, something that Brom hadn't heard in a very long time. In fact, he couldn't recall whether he'd ever heard it.

It was _pain._

"This is never what I wanted," Brom replied after a moment's silence. "You were my brother, Morzan. And you betrayed me."

"That was always the difference between us," Morzan said with a mirthless laugh. "You always thought of us as brothers, and I never saw you as anything more than a tool I could use for my own devices." Hatred flared in his chest again, though Brom had heard these words before.

"Yes, I was a fool," Brom admitted quietly, with just the barest hint of sadness for the boy he had been. "But no longer."

"Tell me," Morzan suddenly said, a slight smirk twisting his cruel mouth, "did you have anything to do with the disappearance of my Black Hand?"

Brom's heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second. When it finally resumed its pumping, it was at a frantic pace. _Selena was missing._

"I'll take your silence as affirmation," Morzan continued, completely oblivious to the thoughts and feelings raging in Brom's head. He looked up at Brom, malice in his stark, grey eyes. "I'll thank you for doing the job for me. She was no use to me anymore, and I would have dispatched of her eventually. What? You thought I cared for her?" He laughed upon seeing the look on Brom's face, which he mistook as surprise that the Hand's disappearance hadn't had the desired effect upon him. But really, it was fear. Fear that Selena had tried to run, and that something terrible had happened.

The spell he still held upon the dragon and his fear combined to sap him of his strength, and Morzan saw his opportunity. Quick as a flash of lightning, he retrieved a hidden dagger from his belt and vaulted forward, springing to his feet in an attempt to overpower Brom. But the effects of his sickness had weakened him as well, and Brom held him off easily. As he held Morzan's dagger-wielding hand away from his exposed neck, Brom slid his sword easily through his opponents abdomen. It caught only slightly on his leather jerkin, but he soon saw the point of his blade appear out of Morzan's back.

The Red Rider uttered a gasp and shuddered violently, his eyes going wide in shock. Brom stood there only a moment longer, before kicking him in the hip so that his body slid heavily off his blade. Morzan fell to the ground, gripping his abdomen in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. From behind him, Brom could hear Morzan's dragon crying desperately, trying to let loose his pain but finding the task impossible.

"Now," Brom said quietly, "I will make you suffer, as I have suffered. You will watch you dragon die, as I was forced to watch mine when you drove your blade through her heart." Morzan's mouth moved in a soundless whisper, his eyes following Brom as he staggered over to the red dragon. The beast thrashed against the weakening spell that still held him captive on the ground, his amber eyes darting about quickly and settling on Brom. His breathing quickened, great gusts of air coming out of his snout in quick succession.

He did not feel sympathy for the monster... No... he _could not_ feel sympathy for this beast. If he did, then Brom understood himself well enough to know that he could not go through with it. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he angled the point of his blade just above the dragon's heart, holding it steady against the frantic rising and falling of the dragon's chest. As he put all of his weight behind the thrust, his blade slid through the dragon's skin, and he uttered a mournful cry. The last vestiges of his spell faded, releasing the dragon from his hold. But it was too late. The red dragon cried in agony from the white-hot pain, spreading his wings towards the sky and digging his gleaming claws into the dirt. When the blade pierced his heart, he gave one last shuddering cry and then collapsed, his life-force ebbing away into nothingness.

Morzan gave a strangled shout, his own life-force slowly fading away. When Brom looked back at the man who had once been his friend, he saw unfathomable pain and grief in his eyes. However much of a monster Morzan had been, he was still bonded with his dragon. Now he knew the pain Brom had felt upon losing Saphira, and Brom drew a grim satisfaction from that knowledge.

With great effort, Brom fell to his knees before the Red Rider, taking the dagger from his slackened hand and holding it to his throat. Morzan looked up at him, but he could tell that all of the fight had gone out of him, replaced by a voracious need to end this.

"Before you die, Morzan," Brom began slowly, "I want you to know that I have taken everything from you." Morzan looked at him questioningly, but said nothing. "Your dragon is dead at my hand, and soon, so you will be also. Your wife betrayed you to me. Yes, I know about Selena."

Morzan's brow came together in confusion. "How—?"

"She came to my bed, and whispered all of your secrets on my pillow," he said, relishing at the pain he was inflicting. "And more than that, I will take your son. He will never know of the monster who was his real father. I will raise him as my own, and teach him to be a good and honorable man, as you never were. Your legacy will die, Morzan, and your name will fade away, lost to history. Now die, and take all the evils you have committed with you." With that, Brom drew the blade across Morzan's throat, silencing him forever. A gush of red spilled upon the grass, and Brom witnessed the light leave his cruel eyes for the last time.

Brom released the breath he'd been holding, and uttered a tortured sob. He couldn't believe he'd actually done it. Morzan was dead... Saphira was avenged. And the blue egg had been saved, to be taken to the Varden. Everything had come together the way he'd planned. Everything except... _Selena._

He struggled to his feet, staggering to Hefring's body and scooping up the blue egg. Then he returned to Morzan's body and retrieved his blood-red sword from where it still lay in the grass. He probed at the consciousness of the baby dragon inside, to make sure it was safe.

When he was satisfied that the dragon was safe, he cradled it in his arms and lurched back down the hillside, pushing the branches of trees aside until he was clear of them. The palfrey was still nearby, his head raised and alert, probably from the cries of the dying dragon. Brom secured the egg in one of the saddle bags, and then hauled himself up into the saddle. He needed to make it back to Morzan's estate, no matter how hurt he might be. Selena's life could be in danger.

 

* * *

 

After transferring the egg to a trusted Varden contact in Daret, Brom pushed the horse to its limits until he reached the Spine. It had taken him two days from Daret to reach Morzan's estate. And by the time he reached the castle gates, night had fallen some time ago. There weren't any guards at the gate, and the entire castle seemed to be deserted. How had news of their master's death already reached them?

Brom didn't have time to wonder. He needed to find Yöthern, or Avarin, if either of his allies were still in the castle. Perhaps one of them knew where Selena had gone, or maybe she'd left a letter for him. Anything to explain why she had run. He raced across the castle grounds, through the gardens he'd once studiously cared for, over the empty terrace, and straight up to the door of Yöthern's chambers. He pounded on the door with a clenched fist, shaking the very frame with his frantic strength.

"Yöthern!" he called, not even caring if anyone could hear him. Seconds later, the door swung open to reveal the healer's surprised face.

"Brom," he said quietly, ushering him inside. The Rider did not stop to care how the healer knew his real name. "Thank the gods you've come. She's through here." Brom followed quickly behind the old man, past two doorframes and through a heavy curtain into a room choked with the smoke of incense.

In the middle of the room was a bed, and upon that bed lay the only woman Brom had ever loved.

Her eyes were closed, and her dark hair splayed about her in a halo upon the pillow. There was a sickly pallor to her skin, and a sheen of sweat upon her brow. Her breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, and her hands were clasped upon her stomach.

All of the breath left his body when Brom saw her form, noticing the swell of her belly and knowing it could only mean one thing. Quickly, he strode to the side of the bed and dropped to his knees, taking up her clammy hand in his rough, strong one.

"Selena," he whispered. "Selena, it's me. I'm here. Please, open your eyes." It took her a moment, but her dark eyes fluttered open and turned upon him. Recognition sparked in them, and the tiniest of smiles broke upon her full lips.

"Brom," she said, her voice cracking weakly, "you came back."

He lifted her hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss there. "I told you I would," he replied. "I could not leave you in this hell. Selena, what happened? Why did you go?" Brom thought he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her mouth.

She chuckled slightly, as much as her strength would allow. "I should think it would be quite obvious." Her free hand ghosted atop the mound of her stomach. "I needed to give birth to our son far from here, Brom. He would have known... Morzan would have known it was not his child."

"My son," Brom whispered, feeling tears come to his eyes. "Is he—?"

"He is safe, and healthy. You will find him in Carvahall, with my brother and his wife," Selena explained. "They have promised to take care of him."

"No, Selena we will care for our son. And Murtagh as well; we will care for them both." His voice had become firm, though the fear was beginning to seep in. Selena looked up at him with those dark eyes of hers, and Brom saw the truth there, before she even had to say it.

"I am dying, Brom." It felt like lightning had struck his chest, and Brom bowed his head so she would not see the tears flowing down his face. "Look at me," she whispered after a long moment. Brom did as she asked. "My beloved Brom... Watch over our son, and tell him that his mother loved him, more than he could possibly know. Keep him safe, and ignorant of his mother's transgressions, I beg of you. Protect him from the Empire."

"I will," Brom promised, squeezing her hand as tightly as he dared. She was so weak and frail... "Selena, do not leave me. I beg of you... I... I love you."

"Death is not final," she said with the ghost of a smile, "only a temporary parting. We shall meet again in the golden fields of Aldhaarr. Many years will pass for you, but it will be but a moment for me until we are together once more." Selena drew in her breath quickly, and tightened her grip on Brom's hand. When she expelled that breath, her grip slackened and fell from Brom's hand, and her life was no more.

When she was gone, Brom let out a tortured sob, burying his face into the coverings and letting his grief soak into them. And when he was spent, he stood from the floor and leaned over her, planting a soft kiss upon her forehead and muttering a blessing from the living to the dead in the ancient language. Yöthern stood aside, pressed into the corner so as to appear invisible. When Brom turned his eyes on the old man, he stepped out of the shadows.

Brom's voice was weak, but he managed to say, "Where is the Little Lord?"

Yöthern looked at his feet and shook his head sadly. "The king himself came to the castle, only two days ago, He gathered the entire household, including the Little Lord, and took them all back to Urû'baen." Brom's heart fell even further, if that was possible. He had failed in saving the boy, and his heart ached for the child. But there was nothing to be done. In the wake of the Varden's most recent infiltration, the defenses around the king would only be that much stronger. Murtagh was trapped there with that monster, and it hurt Brom to know that the boy would likely die there.

"You should leave this place," Brom muttered darkly, looking at the cold body of his beloved. "The Varden could use a man of your talents. If you wish to find them, look for the dwarves." Brom knew that Yöthern was a learned man, and he would understand what he meant.

Without another word, Brom collected Selena's body into his arms and carried her out of the house. In the stables, he found a carriage, but no horses. His palfrey would have to draw it alone. Brom placed her body in the carriage and then hurried back to the garden, winding his way through the endless paths until he found the flowerbed he searched for.

The little white petals were in full bloom under the veil of night, soaking up the light of the moon above. Carefully, Brom dug up as many of the blooms as he could carry, and then returned to the carriage. After he put the appropriate tack on the horse, and hooked it up, he climbed into the driver's seat and set the horse out on a slow pace.

Brom directed the horse away from the imposing castle, never sparing a backwards glance. After an hour or so, Brom spotted a place very much like what he was looking for. The mountains were thickly wooded, but he spotted a clearing about a hundred meters away. In the center of the clearing was a massive oak tree, its branches and leaves so numerous that he could not gauge their number in the dark. The palfrey drug the carriage off the road and over the open land, stopping just below the tree.

Brom hopped out of the driver's seat and strode over to the tree, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself. When he was beneath the shade of the tree, he began speaking in the ancient language, until a shallow grave was dug before him. Then, using more words from the ancient language, Selena's body floated down into the grave, until she was resting peacefully in the ground. Brom moved the dirt back overtop of her, and then returned to the carriage, bringing down his saddlebags and rifling through them until he found his trowel. He dug the appropriate number of holes needed for all of the blooms, and then used his magic to place the flowers on top of her grave.

There would be no marker, as he didn't want anyone knowing who was buried here. To anyone passing by, it will simply look as though a bed of flowers had grown under the tree. The moonflowers, which Selena had so loved, would be the only indicator of her final resting place. It was fitting, he thought. The flowers only showed their true selves at night, as Selena had done with him. They were fragile-looking, but the blooms always survived through the winter to come back the following year. Selena was like that too. And their seeds were poisonous, if taken in too large amounts, but had incredible healing powers in the proper dosage. Finally, Brom understood why she loved them so.

And so, with a heavy heart, Brom scooped up the last of the blooms, carrying it back with him to the carriage. He would take it with him, to keep as a reminder of the woman he had loved so fervently, to plant in his garden wherever he made a home.

By now, dawn was breaking in the east. Brom climbed back into the driver's seat, securing the moonflower in his saddlebags, and urged the horse onward, turning him west and further into the mountains... towards Carvahall.

_THE END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading my piece. I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> If you're at all interested, this is the lullaby Selena is singing to Murtagh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjUX3CeRUZI


End file.
